


do not touch

by girlsarewolves



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Movie, Script and Movie Fusion, mild violence, prequel fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-05 20:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: Quentin likes Nancy. Dean likes Nancy. Someone else wants Nancy all to himself.





	do not touch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a much older fic of mine and is a mix of movie canon and aspects from the early leaked scripts. Also, the scene of letter blocks and the words they spell out was taken from the movie 'Fragile' - I just really loved that scene and thought it would work well in a NOES fic. XD

* * *

Quentin Smith was heading for disaster.

  
Dean was walking towards Nancy Holbrook and just happened to notice that Quentin making his way over to her as well. The other teen was closer, one hand already reaching out to tap Nancy on the shoulder. Dean groaned, sprinting towards the two of them.

  
Dean Russell was all about trying to stop bad things from happening.

  
Nancy was closing her locker door, completely unaware of the hand about to touch her, while Quentin was swallowing and bracing himself up for interaction, nervous and completely unaware of what was about to be unleashed. Dean wasn't close enough to stop the contact from happening, and he was perfectly aware of what would follow.

  
Quentin's hand touched Nancy's shoulder. He didn't get a chance to even say anything before Nancy's elbow violently rushed back to hit whoever had put his hand on her. Quentin saw it coming, but couldn't react fast enough.

  
Fortunately, Dean was pretty quick - even while dead tired - and he grabbed Nancy's arm. "Whoa, easy there, Nancy," he laughed and let go of her as soon as he'd made certain her elbow was not going to connect with Quentin's nose. He gave Quentin a pat. "Gotta watch out for Holbrook, she packs a mean punch when she's startled." And he knew that from experience. It was kind of embarrassing to explain his broken nose a year ago came from a girl - especially one as scrappy as Nancy. But Dean had never been able to lie about it.

  
Nancy's face flushed red before palin, and she shyly ducked her head down and gave Quentin a sheepish glance. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Reflex."

  
Quentin shrugged and looked twice as sheepish. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snuck up on you. I, um, I was wondering..." He trailed off and briefly looked Dean's way; whatever Quentin was going to ask died on his tongue. "Nevermind. I just wanted to ask if you were okay since you didn't show last night."

  
Oh. That's what it was. Now it was Dean's turn to feel awkward. He'd messed up Quentin's attempt to try and get Nancy to go out with him (again) and maybe get a reason for why she'd bailed (again). Briefly, Dean thought perhaps he should head off and give Quentin a chance to actually talk with Nancy. But he didn't. He wasn't sure if it was the strange, protective feeling he got around Nancy - or the secret, jealous feeling he got around Quentin.

  
He really hoped it was the former, though either way it made him feel way too much like Jesse for his liking.

  
Nancy glanced back and forth between Dean and Quentin with an unreadable expression on her face, though her eyes were wide. Her arms crossed; Nancy had a habit of trying to appear smaller if she felt overwhelmed or intimidated.

  
Instinctively, Dean took a couple of steps back. He'd known Nancy a long time (longer for him than her, based on repressed memories he was struggling with currently) and had gotten used to her body language and the signals she subconsciously gave.

  
Quentin stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled from one foot to another.

  
Nancy's posture relaxed a fraction, but it was enough for her to focus on just one of them. She gave Quentin an apologetic shrug and explained, "I'm fine. I got called in to cover a shift last night, and by the time it was over I'd actually forgotten about the movie. You weren't by yourself, were you?"

  
"Oh, no," Quentin waved his hand dismissively and tried to act like everything was cool. Like he wasn't hurt or disappointed or aware that she'd actually asked to work simply to have an excuse. It happened every time, and Quentin always told Jesse about it - who in turn bitched about it to Dean and Kris.

  
And sometimes, Nancy would tell Dean about it.

  
But that's what Dean was there for. He was their friend, someone for them to talk to. He wanted to be there for them. He wanted to help them. He wanted to be what he couldn't be when he was younger and (a lot) smaller and afraid of even his own shadow. He didn't care what his shrink said; he wasn't about to stop being a good friend with a ready ear just because the messed up shit of his childhood was resurfacing again.

  
"Good. I'm sorry I didn't call." Nancy meant it, too - Dean knew it, and he had a feeling Quentin knew it.

  
Smith did keep asking after all.

  
"It's cool," Quentin shrugged with a wide smile.

  
Dean continued to simply stand to the side as an observer, even though part of him badly wanted to be involved. But he couldn't do that to Nancy.

  
"So, see you at the diner tomorrow?"

  
Nancy's lips curved upwards in a small but genuine smile. "Dinner with Jesse and Paxton again?"

  
Quentin laughed and nodded. "Yeah. Same as always."

  
"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Nancy answered.

  
Dean leaned against a locker and stared at the floor as Quentin said bye and walked off with a stupid grin on his face. He'd already planned on going to the diner tomorrow as well, yet he still felt like a jealous stalker. To be fair, though, he didn't eat there every single weekend like Quentin did. Dean glanced up as Nancy turned towards him, the smile faded but still visible.

  
"You look worse today," she bluntly told him after a moment.

  
Almost instantly Dean forgot about Quentin Smith and the jealous pangs. He laughed and pushed himself from the locker with a shove of his elbow. "Your brutal honesty is refreshing, Nancy." And he meant that, too. That was one of the reasons why he put the effort and patience into getting to know her. There was no bullshit between them.

  
Nancy tried to smile more, but she mostly just looked more concerned. "Have you been taking your prescriptions?"

  
"Yeah," Dean told her. "Lot of good they're doing."

  
"Maybe you should stop."

  
Dean studied Nancy. "You really don't trust medications, do you?" He wasn't teasing her, nor did he think she was paranoid. Anymore, at least. He was starting to think maybe she was right - because he'd been doing worse since getting on those damn pills.

  
"I just think sometimes they're prescribed too easily. And I think people, even doctors, think they can make everything better and fix things they aren't meant to fix. Instead they cover up the problem. But some people are happy to sweep things under the rug, and ignore the bump."

  
"Speaking from experience?" Dean asked, and he wondered again how much Nancy remembered. There were moments where his hopes would rise because it seemed like she really did remember what the others (that still lived in Springwood) had all forgotten. Those moments were the hardest, because he so badly wanted someone that he could talk to. Someone else who remembered and who knew and who could share the burden. But then those moments would pass, and Nancy would make it clear that she didn't remember, not consciously.

  
"I...I don't know," Nancy stated. She gave him that lost look she so often wore, and Dean felt his stomach turn because he honestly didn't know which was the right choice - keeping it from her, or telling her the truth. As horrible as it was, Dean got the feeling Nancy couldn't ever heal without the missing pieces.

  
But how the hell was he supposed to tell her?

  
"I've got to get to art class. See you tomorrow?" Nancy asked, and she managed a real smile - as genuine and pretty as the one she gave Quentin.

  
Dean flashed a grin that hid all the dark places his mind went to and nodded. "You bet, Holbrook."

  
And they went their separate ways, Nancy giving him an out before he felt compelled to do something he couldn't take back.

  
***

  
Sleep was inevitable. An unavoidable process that his body could not put off forever. And those damn pills...he should have listened to Nancy. The pills always made it harder to stay awake. He tried though; oh, how hard he'd tried.

  
But eventually his eyes closed like they always did. One minute he was watching Insomniac Theater on VH1, and then the next a shadowy arm with four clawed fingers was swiping at him.

  
Dean fell back onto the floor - which was soft and damp; dirt. He looked around frantically to found himself on the floor of the bad room. The room he and Quentin and Jesse weren't supposed to go into. Only Nancy, and sometimes Kris, went into this room. Candles flickered on stretched out walls with drawings plastered everywhere.

  
The shadow approached him. Every step he took, more candles went out to keep the shape shrouded in the darkness; but Dean knew who was coming for him. He never saw the man clearly, but it was obvious all the same.

  
And with Fred Krueger came the unnerving thought that Dean might not wake up. Every time he had one of these nightmares, he couldn't shake the feeling. That if Krueger touched him, hurt him - cut him - he'd never wake up again. And that was only after he realized he was dreaming. So often it felt so real; like Krueger really was back, back to 'punish' them all for telling on him, forcing him to run away.

  
"It's just a dream," Dean tried to convince himself. He didn't believe it though.

  
"And I'm just a monster," a guttural voice hissed from the shadows. It was the bad voice; the one Freddy used when he was hurting them, and they wouldn't behave.

  
Dean got up to run, but the room was a dead end.

  
"You know you aren't supposed to play with things that aren't yours, not without permission," the voice sneered. Four blades came at him again, and Dean stumbled back. Seconds before the blades could strike, he hit the wall, hard, and blinked from the pain.

  
The shadow was gone. The blades were gone. He wasn't in the bad room. VH1 was still playing on the television in his living room, and he was slouched on the sofa.

  
Dean laughed in relief. "Just a dream." He stood up and went for the kitchen. He needed more coffee. He passed the kitchen table and paused to look at the mess; his old letter blocks, the ones his mother had made him let her use at Badham. He didn't remember her getting them out, but then again she was going back to teaching soon. Dean reached over to take one but abruptly they all shook and slid over the table until forming words.

  
'Don't touch.'

  
"The fu..."

  
They moved again, forming new words. 'Not yours.'

  
"I never liked sharing," the voice growled from behind, and four blades swiped at Dean's chest.

  
Dean shot up from the sofa, shirt torn and chest bleeding, and that awful feeling came back. That if he fell asleep again, he wouldn't ever wake up. And nobody would believe him.

  
Except maybe Nancy.

  
'Not yours.'

  
Dean swallowed, and decided that maybe he should have a talk with Kris instead. Maybe she would listen.

* * *


End file.
